Page 36 of Sweet Whiskey
“No, she didn’t,” I say sternly, “but I understand the suspicion. Look, if he turns out not to be my dad, then so be it. I’ll move on. I’m not looking for trouble.”
His mouth opens to reply, but the bells ring out and his eyes widen. I throw up my hands, back up a step, and nod at Brielle. “That’s all on you.” Even if the test comes out negative, I would never be comfortable giving my almost brother an almost lap dance.
Before I make it back to the bar, I almost run into a solid chest of muscle. An apology is on my lips when I look up at the dazzling hazel-green eyes and blond curly hair hanging down enough to nearly conceal them.
Brooks’s hands catch around my waist. “Can I have this dance?”
Butterflies flutter in my belly, my heartbeat picking up like it always does being near him and the other two alphas that have stolen my mind lately. I barely nod before he yanks me closer, one hand sliding to catch my hand and the other firmly on my lower back, closer to my hip. His knee slates between my thighs. The rough denim of his jeans rubs against the bare skin from my shorts, and heat tingles in my core.
I run my fingers up his front, enjoying the slow caress of his muscular frame until I’m resting my hands on his shoulders. With a smolder, Brooks stares down at me intently, and I can’t help but smile a bit.
“I’m not the best dancer if I’m honest, especially not something more formal like this.”
He shrugs and grins back. “We’ll make it up as we go. It’s more fun that way.”
I don’t get a chance to respond before he starts pulling us toward the pool tables, swaying like we’re in a ballroom, and I laugh loudly, following his lead freely. “Hard to Handle” by The Black Crowes is blasting around us, making it seem evenmore silly as Brooks guides us into a waltz-like dance.
“Did you choose this song? How’d you get Tracy to agree?” I ask.
Brooks pulls me closer, swinging me sharply to the side when we nearly run into a standing table. “She owed me a favor.”
We continue dancing for another minute, all the day’s tension draining, and something comforting settles in my soul the longer I’m in his arms. He smells like freshly baked cookies after a long day. I swallow down the whine that almost escapes, wanting nothing more than for him to pick me up and carry me home, wherever that is.
The song switches and we slow to a stop, but he doesn’t let go as his fingers flex where he’s holding me. When our eyes meet again, he sighs and forces a weak smile on his face.
“I know you’re still mad at us, but I just wanted to feel you in my arms one more time if you decided to leave.”
Tears threaten to fill my vision and I clear my throat. “I’mnot running.”
His stare brightens with hope. “So there’s a possibility of you forgiving us?”
The urge to blurt out that I already have is on the tip of my tongue, but I only nod. He drops his hold to cup my face and brushes a soft kiss on my lips. I arch toward him, wanting more when he pulls away. Brooks tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and then rubs his calloused thumb along my lips.
“Good, because I have no problem fighting for who I want, but only if they want me back.”
A loud whistle has us looking toward an agitated Maverick, who is waving at Brooks to leave.
I grab his hand still on my mouth, kiss his palm, and then press it to his chest with a wink. “See you later, cowboy.”
CHAPTER 17
COLT
Tossing the old flooring into the front yard, I roll my shoulders and crack my neck. Everything feels stiff, and it’s not from the renovation work. It’s the haunted, hurt look in Kinsey’s eyes when she realized I lied to her. I roll my head back to stare at the cobwebs on the ceiling of the porch and blow out a breath. We’ve been working relentlessly to get this place ready for Kinsey, and my stomach sinks that she may reject us in the end. The house had been abandoned and didn’t cost much at the auction last week, but it wouldn’t mean anything without her here with us.
Thudding bootsteps come to my side, and Dallastosses another pile of rotted wood. He glances over at me and shakes his head.
“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong. Kinsey will understand,” he says.
I shrug. “She may understand, but that doesn’t mean she has forgiven.”
He frowns and then glares at me. “We may not know Kinsey that well yet, but I know how she makes us feel and how she responds to us. I have faith that she will.”
We both look up as Brooks’s truck kicks dirt down the driveway, bringing in the supplies he picked up from town, and we walk down the steps to help him. When he hops out, Dallas and I are already pulling down the gate and unloading the gallons of paint and new flooring.
“Larry said he was able to find a new nest mattress in the next town over. Otherwise if we order, it will be about two weeks.”
Dallas curses. “Alright, I’ll go pick it up Monday.”
